Nel Destino
by klytaemnestra
Summary: ‘Do not fear Fate, Highwind. For though we may grasp and pilot it, we shall never truly capture it.' CidxVincent shounenai


Author: Beautifully Twisted

Email: enigmaticangst@aol.com

Title: Nel Destino

Paring: Cid/Vincent

Rating: PG

Notes: The final instalment of my two previous fics 'Nella Disperazione' & 'Nella Devozione' … however, it's not required reading for this could stand-alone. Fanart posted in bio.

For Caz, my little Cid Muse.

Sleep had never come difficult for the pilot. In fact, Vincent had pointed out on several occasions that Cid could most likely sleep anywhere and be content. Cid usually responded with a snarling remark on how he hadn't slept in a coffin for God knows how long. Such foolish words now that he thought upon it. Vincent was gone, and since that fatal night sleep had scarcely found him. He wasn't plagued by nightmares, and visions of Vincent. Instead when he did sleep, he dreamt peacefully, as he had for years. Dreams of the sky and the stars … but never once had the raven-haired beauty entered his dreams, and it terrified him. He feared losing what memories he had, already his face had become a blur of images. And though he did have photographs of Vincent, they could not do him justice. For photographs could not convey emotion. 

Vincent always appeared apathetic, stoic, cold even, in the photographs. Appropriately so, he figured. Vincent had never willingly shown emotion to anyone. Even Cid had been forced to drag it from him only after much coaxing. Years of sleeping in a crypt because of love had taught him that emotions only sought to destroy. Better to remain frigid, and anti-social than to have his heart ripped in two again.

But in his effort to avoid being shattered again, he failed to notice that another being was willingly offering his soul to him. Cid would have mended his heart, and pieced back together his broken spirit, if only he had been allowed to get close. Vincent, unwilling to believe that he was not a monster, shunned all attempts to save his dying soul. 

He had taken his own life, and had left the pilot with nothing more than flashes of images, and sounds, and emotions … a broken collage of what could have been had Fate not been so heartless.

Life had been an endless cycle of forced smiles, condolences, and feeble attempts at starting anew, all of which had left Highwind a broken man. However, amidst this bleak existence, he still had memories, moments frozen in time where Vincent was still alive. But Fate was cruel, and had not yet ceased its stratagems upon him. Ever so slowly he was losing those precious memories of Vincent.

It had begun very slowly. Cid started to forget the breathy voice that had spoken prophetically of the future and of the past. But that wasn't too terrible, after all voices were unsubstantial. In time, he found that whenever Vincent entered his thoughts, it was his own voice that spoke. This continued until all memory of his lover's voice had vanished.

For a time it had mattered little. He still had those memories; sweet, timeless moments possessively locked away within his mind and his heart. But when he began to lose those, he knew that Fate would leave him with nothing.

The ritualistic meetings at Vincent's crypt, where tears had often been shed, broken promises spoken, and flowers left to wilt, were all he had now. Part of him clung to the fleeting hope that in holding these obsequies, Fate would grant him eternal knowledge of his deceased lover in all his pure beauty. He longed to see Vincent as he was before Aeris had died, before the world had hung in the balance. He longed for the man that had some faith left, not the broken, hopeless creature he had become. Vincent had become nothing more than a blur of colours, a shriek of violence, and red … so very much red. His eyes, the cloak, the violence, the passion, the blood … it was driving Cid mad.

So he resorted to the one thing that had given salvation to Vincent. Sleep. For twined in the webs of slumber, one could forget … one could change things. Even if Vincent would not enter his dreams, at least he would be given that fleeting hope. Perhaps if he could see him once more in all his shy flawlessness he would be satisfied. He longed to tear the image of Vincent steeped in his own blood, and the memory of him lying in that coffin, so still, so very still. Cid hadn't cried, not even when they had sealed the coffin, forever shutting Vincent off from the living world. It wasn't until he had returned home late that evening, and the finality of what had transpired sank in, did he cry.

He wept for Vincent, wept for the world they were forced to endure, wept for every mistake he had made, wept for how he hadn't even touched Vincent before he was laid to rest. To touch him, hold him, feel him one last time … he would willingly give up his very soul.

But he was gone from this world, and no tears or prayers would ever bring him back. Vincent Valentine was dead, and soon the memories that kept Cid going would meet the same fate.

* * *

Cid had found the tears had come easily tonight, often they would tear themselves from his eyes in slow, reluctant trickles, but each were no less selfishly spent. He wanted what he could not have, the feel, the touch, the love of a man who had certainly found peace in death.

He had gone to Vincent's grave bearing a meagre offering of dried lavender, for winter was upon him and roses were scarce. The once crimson petals lay dried against the coffin … petals that had once been vibrant, faded. This meeting had become almost mechanical. Words of love and grief, and blind selfishness, the offering of flowers, and the few precious moments where Cid felt that Vincent perhaps could see him, hear him, understand his grief and love, and devotion. For he of all people should understand the inability of letting go. His love for another and self-hatred of his part in what had come to pass had destroyed him in the end; surely he couldn't condemn Cid for his own twisted devotion.

Love had turned to bitter obsession; Cid had broken down and wept before Vincent's coffin, clawing at the ebony, cursing the heavens and damning Fate. And though a tiny voice whispered that Vincent was finally at peace, he wanted him back.

The anger dissipated until a numb selfishness was all that was left. Drunk with his own self-pity, he returned home and twined himself within the bed sheets, too tired and miserable to do much else. He had fallen asleep shortly thereafter.

* * *

A pair of blue eyes flashed open, as Cid Highwind awoke with a start. He shivered and pulled the blankets tighter about his form, trying to calm himself and recollect what had caused him to awaken. A nightmare? No, that wasn't it.

Pressing his hand to his brow he fought against the impending delirium. Was he going mad? Floating in an existence of loneliness and grief, it was not unlikely. After all, had it not driven Vincent to an irrevocable end? Yet he was stronger than that, for Vincent had always been emotionally weak, frail even in his approach to feelings. His heart could be so easily broken.

Tears once again made their way past the confines of Cid's eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Through his tears, he gazed at the pallor of pale moonlight, which shone through the window slats. The moon … it had once been his dream to reach it. Ironic how his priorities had changed. He would give up the stars to simply hold Vincent again. Hell, he'd give up the sky if only to hear his voice … once more.

'Highwind.'

Cid glanced away from the window, peering into the darkness.

'Highwind.' The voice came again.

He felt a sob trying to force its way out of his throat. Was this another cruel trick Fate had cast down to torment him?

'Highwind … please. Let me in  …'

'Go away … you're not real. You're not …'

'Not entirely … no.' Came the soft replied, as the darkly cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, the moonlight illuminating his delicate features. 'Though, I did not believe you would mind … I was mistaken.' Sadness crept into his voice as he turned away.

'Vincent … it's not that …' Cid reached after the fading spectre in sudden desperation. 'Please, don't go.'

He smiled sadly, 'I cannot stay.'

'Then why?' The tears came again as he fought against the confusion and overwhelming sensation of his lover's presence. 'Why did you come here? What are you, a ghost? My fears and desires … you left me, Vincent. You left me here alone …' He sobbed angrily, 'Do you know what it's like, to be alone?'

Folding Cid into a protective embrace, he murmured, 'Yes … yes, Cid. It was all I remembering feeling. Loneliness. It will consume you.' He pressed a light kiss to his temple. 'Don't let it, Highwind.'

Burying his face in the comforting shoulder, he wept softly. How long had he prayed for Vincent to return to him? How many countless hours were spent trying to remember the lines of his face? And now to have him return … he had wished him away. Slowly, he parted his eyes half in fear of finding himself once again alone. However cruel this vision might be, it was precious torment. Moments spent in surrealism, wrapped up in an embrace that defied even death. He craved it and to lose it once again … no, he wouldn't allow it. Vincent was his, and he would fight the demons of hell and the angels of the heavens to keep him.

He simply didn't want to be alone any longer.

And suddenly a small part of him understood why Vincent had to leave. Pulling away from the embrace he gazed into those eyes –no longer bloody crimson, but warm russet- and pleadingly asked what he could not. _Why?_

Once again a sad smile played upon Vincent's lips, before pressing them against Cid's temple and breathing, 'I did not belong in this world, Highwind. Too fragile was my soul.'

'So you let go.' Cid stated bitterly.

'I relinquished the desire to live in a world in which I was displaced.' Calm, as dead as Cid's soul.

'I loved you!'

A tear slipped from Vincent's eye. 'And that love was acknowledged too late. Do not blame yourself for my blindness.'

'I could've saved you.' He once again found the tears too difficult to fight back, 'I could have saved you …'

'I did not wish to be saved.' Gently he administered another kiss to the grieving pilot's temple. 'As I stated, I was not for this world. Not any longer.'

Clinging to Vincent, he pleaded, 'Stay with me … please …'

'I cannot.'

'Fuck … why?'

'Now that you have granted me access to your dreams, I have found peace.' He replied softly, and added, 'Do not fear Fate, Highwind. For though we may grasp and pilot it, we shall never truly capture it.' Placing a delicate kiss upon Cid's tremble lips, Vincent bid farewell.

'Don't leave me …' Cid cried, grasping at Vincent. He refused to allow this man to slip away once more.

'I cannot stay… I shall look in on you from time to time.'

'Like me …' A flicker of a smile crossed his features at the remembrance of a time not so very long ago when he played the role of guardian to his once fallen angel.

'Farewell, Cid.'

'You'll wait for me?' He grasped Vincent's hand in his, threading their fingers together.

Locking his eyes with Cid's, he nodded before placing a kiss against their entwined hands. 'Forever.' He murmured before fading into a misty nothingness.

Cid awoke shortly thereafter trembling with the after effects of his dream. Yes, that was all it was. Idle tricks played by his mind. Nothing more. Then why did it feel so real?

Forever, he had said. He vowed he would wait for him beyond this world where there was hope for a new beginning, another chance at love. He had hope. And in the continuing years of his life, Cid never gave up on that hope knowing that in time they would have their second chance. 

* * *

'Highwind.'

'Vincent.'

'You waited.'

'You doubted me?'

'Never.'

- fin


End file.
